Postmortem Memories
This fic was written for Violet during the SAYS fic exchange. She asked for Tom/Minerva, canon. XD
Title: Postmortem Memories
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Violence
Ship: Tom/Minerva
The disintegration of his body was both a necessity and closure for the world. But one Minerva McGonagall could not have her closure until she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Albus was correct all along. And only one person could provide that truth to her.
Soon after the students and Order left the Great Hall, Minerva kneeled by the Dark Lord's side and let her hand rest on his cheek. This twisted man was not the person she had known throughout the last half of a century; the other man was lost in this villain’s mind.
She reached inside her robes, pulling out several tiny, empty vials. No matter how masochistic the move was, or how desperate it may have seemed, Minerva held her wand to Tom's temple and muttered a spell under her breath. The memories that she extracted, Minerva placed on by one into separate vials.
Later, in the comfort of her old Head office, Minerva laid each vial out in front of the Pensieve and jumped into the selected memories, one by one…
1943
Normal boys would have felt emotion in this situation; they would have leaned over their still parents' bodies and wept. It was not the case for Tom. He loathed his father and those who bred him to be a filthy half-blood. He was better than they were, meant for more in life. And so, as he passed his dead father's lifeless body, he struck him in the gut once with his foot and turned around, never caring to look upon them again.
It was in this state of disgust and apathy that he found himself returning to Hogwarts to start his sixth year. He had no cause to leave the school again, and intended to speak with Headmaster Dippet at the end of his schooling about maintaining a position as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Until graduation, he would diligently strive to receive Outstanding marks and make himself indispensable to the growth of the school. Yes, Tom Riddle had it worked out; only from the inside could he orchestrate his plan of control. It would be seamless, a perfect transition. He would be the peacemaker in the end. He would be the hero.
His devious grin deepened as his hands dug further into his trouser pockets. The castle was still in the late hours of the night, when teachers and students alike were sleeping. It was when he enjoyed the castle best; this was when it spoke of its secrets and riddled him relentlessly. It was because of these quiet times that Tom learned of several hidden places within the castle walls; the Chamber, the Room of Requirement, and the Unknowable Room. Every secret entrance opened itself up to his disposal.
This night, however, was not a night for hunting or searching. It was of reflecting and planning. There were two complete years left until he graduated; two years in which he would have to scheme and plot, develop an army with undying allegiance and find articles worthy enough to become Horcruxes. The treasure he had stumbled upon in the library, the Horcruxes, needed a confirmation of their infallibility. Old Slughorn would be easy enough to persuade.
Everything was finally starting to pick up pace. With a bit of cunning and a dash of manipulation, he would soon hold the world in a vice-like grip.
"What are you doing out of bed at this hour?" The accusatory voice rang shrill through the corridor; Tom didn't turn to look at the person who was now stomping over to him; he didn't move. "Do you know that I can give you detention for a week because of this!"
He tilted his head only slightly, still not bothering to turn toward her. When she stood directly in front of him with her tense hands up in front of her chest, he narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw.
"Well?" She tried to coerce him to speak.
He obliged in a clipped tone. "I am on my way back from the Headmaster's office."
For a moment, she hesitated and Tom's eyes sparkled under his raised brow. But then, she spoke again in even more condescendence. "Where is your note?"
Tom blinked slowly and pulled his hand out of his pocket, wand gripped in his fist. "The Headmaster did not expect anyone to be about," he lied easily. "You can go disturb him and ask him if I am allowed to walk back to my common room, if you choose. I wouldn't dare disrupt his precious time with such a silly, trivial matter." Allowing a small, derisive smile to claim his lips, he continued. "It's not as if I am doing anything wrong. I am merely walking. Surely I didn't give you the impression that I was up to no good?"
"Of course you have," the girl answered him sharply, taking a calculated step toward him with her finger pointing at his face. "All of you Slytherins are alike; you all think you are above the rules. I will tell the Headmaster about your nocturnal stroll." She seemed to confirm the decision in silence for a moment. "Tomorrow."
The pupils of his eyes seemed to dilate, giving his eyes an almost completely onyx color. His forefinger traced along the cylinder wood in his hand before he gave his wand a barely noticeable flick. His attention was focused directly into her eyes. "You should go to bed, Minerva."
Her eyes were glazed over and her lips were pressed tight together. She finally let her hands rest at her sides, but did not turn to go back to her dormitory.
Tom's smile faded to a sneer, his clasp on his wand got firmer. "Go to bed, Minerva, and forget that this happened."
A sigh of relief escaped him when she robotically turned on her heel and walked away toward the Gryffindor common room. Once she was out of sight, he loosened his grasp on his wand and stuffed it away. Out of the dozen people he had used the Imperius curse on, she was the only one who fought it, even if it were only for a moment. He dwelled on this thought only for a minute before he continued his journey, not to his common room, but to the girl's lavatory; tonight was the perfect night to experiment with the basilisk.
1955
"Thank you for the offer, Minister, but I must decline," Tom said with a curt smile. "I have other matters to attend, if you'll excuse me."
It was not the first offer he had received to work in the Ministry, and each time they extended their graces, he turned them down. Unfortunately, the Ministry held no interest, nor would it advance his cause at this point. He turned away from the pear-shaped, mustached man and made his way down the narrow steps to Knockturn Alley.
As Tom pushed the heavy door to Borgin & Burke's open, a dinging bell went off overhead. Caractacus Burke stood behind a cluttered counter, looking as though he were trying to take a nap. Tom approached him, trying to keep a disgusted grimace off of his face; he really hated the old man, but the job allowed him to search and hunt for the things he needed. He would never complain out loud.
"Good morning, Mister Burke," he said as he stepped around the counter. "Is there any more news on Miss Smith and her trinkets?"
"Ah, Tom, we should just give up," Caractacus sighed, waving a hand at the young man. "The old cow won't just hand anything over and frankly, we don't have enough in our savings to buy them from her."
Tom's light, forced smile remained in place. "If you'll please allow me to visit Miss Smith, I'm sure I can persuade her."
Caractacus stood from his seat and stretched, chuckling deep in his throat. "Listen, mate, if you can chat up Hepzibah and get her to hand over those dark objects she says she has, for a decent price, then I'll raise your pay."
This time, Tom's smile was genuine. "You have yourself a deal, old man. I'll start now then, shall I?"
He did not wait for an answer before he walked briskly from the shop and up the stairs leading to Diagon Alley. His employment with Borgin & Burke's was mutually beneficial. The shop was now on the receiving end of many, many dark objects thanks to Tom's ability to charm the customers, and Tom could keep his eye out for anything exceedingly special. He never expected the job to carry him through more than a year or two, especially not after his success in finding Rowena's diadem in Albania.
Something hard rammed into Tom's chest, stealing his breath away momentarily. He glanced down and his eyes were met with a head of ginger hair, pulled together with a ancient looking, garnet hairclip. His hands immediately sought the waist of the wrecking ball that knocked into him and was pleasantly surprised at her slender frame; the force at which she slammed into him suggested otherwise. At the same time, they spoke.
"Are you alright?" They both smiled and took a step away from each other.
"I'm terribly sorry - Tom Riddle! Is that you? The last I heard, you had made Head Boy," Minerva seemed genuinely pleased to see him, but Tom remembered too well his last encounter with the former Gryffindor.
Tom allowed his eyes to travel the length of her and finished once again at her unique hairclip. It was old, an heirloom perhaps. He felt compelled to ask her about it, but when he saw the worry line between her eyebrows, he placed a gentle smile on his face and turned his attention away from the hair piece.
"I graduated with honors, of course," he told her without modesty. "Much like yourself, Minerva."
She beamed at him and he watched as she finally relaxed into a comfortable stance. "Yes, well," she waved her hand, "It seems we have the compulsion to succeed in common, Tom."
"Indeed." He nodded his head slightly and placed his hands behind his back, clasped together. "I was just on my way-"
"Right!" She interrupted him; he saw her jump as if she were pulling herself from a trance. "Again, I'm sorry that I almost knocked you down, I do hope you forgive me. I will see you around."
Minerva began her maneuver around him, but Tom caught her by the wrist. He tried to keep his irritation at a minimum, his voice was thick with politeness. "Actually, Minerva, I was on my way to do some business, but was wondering if you would like to grab a bite to eat? If you have time, that is?"
He watched her struggle, glancing down at her wrist, still caught in his hand tightly. "S-sure, Tom, that would be lovely. Let me just," she yanked her arm away from him, "tell my mum and I'll meet you at the Leaky in ten?"
He bowed minutely and turned sharply on his heel, heading toward the Leaky Cauldron. Fifteen minutes passed before Minerva joined him at his corner table, her face flushed, the hairclip now at the side of her head instead of at the top. He would have to try and haggle it away from her; something about the clip intrigued him. He wanted it for his collection.
"Is there something in my hair?" Minerva asked as she tread her fingers through.
Tom bared his pearly teeth in a semblance of a smile and stopped tapping his fingers on the table. "Nothing unwanted. Tell me," he leaned forward and raised a thick brow over his curious eyes. "Where did you get that antique?"
She smiled genuinely, causing his stomach to lurch; bloody Gryffindors. Her fingers went to the clip immediately. "It was handed down to my mother from her mother, it's about two centuries old."
"Is that real garnet?" His question came out too fast, but he recovered faster. "The color is very nice against your hair."
The blush across her cheeks brought a tingling, vomitous feeling into his body. "Yes, pure garnet. Mum says that it was once owned by the wife of Godric Gryffindor."
Spot on. He knew there was a reason he was drawn to it; one of the founders of Hogwarts had once owned it. It was as good as his now. With this, he might have been able to leave Hepzibah and her cups alone. "Oh, brilliant. Though, I have to say, I am shocked that you have kept it; it must be worth a load of galleons."
She nodded at him thoughtfully. "Mum had offers for it, but she said it was too sentimental to give up."
Emotion. He nearly groaned in disgust, but caught himself before the noise broke his lips. Taking a deep breath, he only allowed himself to speak once he knew he had his voice even. "And now that it's yours?"
Minerva shrugged. "I suppose I'll keep it. Why are you so interested?"
"I work with Borgin & Burkes. Antiques intrigue me." He shrugged too, and let the topic sizzle away. "I heard you were training with the Ministry."
"I was, until I realized that I have no ambition to work for them." Tom noticed her voice turned haughty. "And then I heard of the position at Hogwarts opening up; I've always been relatively good at Transfiguration."
Yes, he remembered. She was a tabby cat, an animagus. The chit even registered herself like the gallant little rule abider that she was. "So, it's true that Dumbledore was made Headmaster, then?" He spat fiercely, not caring to hide his distaste in the old wizard.
The grin on her face was nauseating. "Oh, yes. Next term, he takes over for Professor Dippet. I heard the benefits for working at Hogwarts are extraordinary."
"I can imagine," he hissed through a clenched jaw. Now he wasn't sure which avenue to pursue; should he try for the job with Dumbledore or should he continue along gathering his Horcruxes? Tom focused on the woman in front of him and tried to breathe calming breaths through his nose. Of course, she would get the position over him.
He reached his hand across the table and took it into his. As genuine as he could brew, he smiled at her and wished her good luck. It just was not his time; there were plans to follow through with. Before he parted with her, he practiced his Legilimency. Her thoughts were neat, simple, nothing special. Not special until he found himself; she fancied him, only a little, but her feelings were there, spread out for him to read. It would come in handy.
Still fondling her hand, he stood from the table and dragged it to his lips, brushing them against her skin gently. "I do hope to see you again, Minerva. And please, consider donating your antique; Mister Burke would love to see it."
1960
The stubborn, old Mudblood loving fool! Tom Riddle, or as he had come to proclaim himself, Lord Voldemort, stepped outside of the Headmaster’s office, seething with rage after being turned away from the Defense Against the Dark Arts post. After all of the hard work, the learning abroad, and the home that he had always believed Hogwarts to be, the mud lover still refused his application for the job.
He didn’t need the money. And, it wasn’t as if he couldn’t recruit from outside the walls of the school. No, his cause was gaining more support as the years dragged on; pitiful wizards searched him out and promised their allegiances, their lives. But, what Lord Voldemort wanted most of all from the school was his home. He would break it into the rest of his plan later, when the old fool was tossed aside.
And yet, he was turned away. No chance to advance his plan further. He would have to improvise. He would have to find another place to settle. Another place to bring his family of Death Eaters. There would be no influence over the younger generation, apart from them parents that chose Hogwarts for education. A muggle loving school. Most of his people would never stoop so low.
“Tom Riddle,” a female voice greeted him from a few steps below. “Fancy seeing you here.”
He cringed at his given name, forgetting the way it rolled off of his peers’ tongues when the spoke to him. After being gone for so long, he had forgotten about those lower and weaker than he. He did his best to show courtesy to Minerva, bowing slightly and allowing a smile, though it was not as handsome as it once had been.
“Minerva,” he said, lacing her name with saccharine. “I see that the position of professor has suited you well.”
She pouted her lip in a way that showed him her confusion. “It does,” she finally answered, advancing another step. “Why have you come to Hogwarts at this hour?”
“Professor Dumbledore and I were having a chat about the new opening for Defense Against the Dark Arts.” It was less of a chat and more like a berating match from the old man. Tom’s pale lips curved downward slightly. “As it happens, I will not be back to Hogwarts any time soon.”
Minerva offered a placating smile. “I’m sure there is a reason, Tom.”
Again, he cringed. “Would you like to accompany me about the castle for one last goodbye? I daresay I have missed these corridors.”
“I think I can accommodate. Professor Dumbledore has called for me, can you wait out here until after I-”
Minerva was cut off by a cruel chuckle. “I should get going, Minerva. It was a pleasure seeing you again.”
“Wait, Tom.” She placed a hand on his arm as he made to pass. When she stared him in the eyes, she gave no indication that his physical changes disturbed her. “It can wait. I can’t possibly see an emergency at this hour with the children in their dormitories.”
They traveled up a flight of marble stairs, and then across to another, leading up and up, until they began their descent back down to the ground floor. Lord Voldemort laughed at the appropriate times and showed his knowledge of being a chivalrous gentleman. He held her hand as it laid against his elbow while they walked on. For a half an hour, they walked the lengthy corridors, pointing out the things that had changed since their time in the school.
“There is one room that I found in year six,” he told her casually, glancing at her to gauge her reaction to his knowledge of the castle. “It creates an illusion to whomever knows how to open the door; whatever you desire will be inside the room.”
If she was surprised, she hid it quite well. Minerva raised her eyebrows and said nothing, but kept walking in the direction of the room. He found that she knew the room, and even how to open the door. Before she had walked past it the third time, he placed one of his hands on the small of her back and another on her stomach.
“Minerva,” he hissed at her, his voice was supposed to be soothing. “Tell me, what is it that you expect to find in there?”
“What I desire?” she echoed his question.
“Or what you need,” he supplemented, removing his hands from her body.
Without his hands holding her, she paced one last time in front of the invisible door. When the handle appeared, Voldemort gripped it and held it open for her. She muttered a quick Lumos spell. His eyes widened briefly at the way she had seemed to mimic his thoughts. In the room was everything lost to Hogwarts; from books to statues.
“Perfect,” he whispered, closing the door behind them. “Can you find a duvet in all of this mess, I will find a torch.”
The moment she walked away, not paying attention to him, Voldemort withdrew a silver tiara from his cloak and placed it on a shelf filled with books and other antiques. His confidence that no one would find the diadem was growing. While he realized just then that others may find this room, he saw the rubbish lying everywhere; no student would guess the value that the tiara would have.
When Minerva came back with the duvet, they sat on the floor in the dim light. They talked about what they had been doing since they last saw each other the day in Diagon Alley, though Voldemort stayed reserved. He mentioned his travels and how much he had learned, but did not discuss his secrets too boldly.
“Professor Dumbledore does not trust you,” she told him after he admitted being disgruntled about the Defense position. “He says that you are a dark wizard now.”
He laughed, not with mirth but with animosity. “That old fool. He’s probably afraid that after all I have learned, I will upstage him.”
“Tom!” Minerva was shocked, staring at him with an open mouth. “Albus is the strongest, most learned wizard -”
“Enough!” He shouted at her, his face twisting in anger. “Even you can become a better witch than that blithering man!”
“One can dream,” she said more wistfully than her face looked. “We are still young. We have so much to learn.”
He shook his head, trying to clear it of the rage. “No. You’re being ridiculous, Minerva. Come with me, join me. I’ll show you knowledge and power.”
“I think I should go, Tom.” She told him as she stood up. He reached to pull her back down to him, but she was quick to move to the door. “You should go, too.”
And then she was gone.
1972
She had become too involved in those trying to take down his organization. What was worse: she was one of the strongest that Dumbledore had recruited. He berated himself for allowing her to slip away that night in Hogwarts, but he would soon make amends.
“Avery!” His voice was a rough hiss. “I want you to raid Hogwarts tonight and bring me Professor McGonagall.”
“My Lord,” Avery accepted, bowing before his master.
He knew nothing of the struggle, but he saw Avery after escorting Minerva into his home; the woman had a lot of fight inside of her.
“Minerva,” his voice slithered around the room where she stood, chest heaving, hands locked behind her back.
“T-tom?” She had finally noticed his transformation.
“My name,” he clarified in a high-pitched voice, “is Lord Voldemort, Minerva. I no longer answer to my given name. My filthy, muggle father can keep it.”
“What happened to you? Is it true? Is what Dumbledore tells us true? Are you-” She looked on the verge of tears, and he sneered at her.
“I want you to join us, Minerva. My cause, we do not want to hurt you, or our kind.” Tom tried to soothe her, to convince her. “Leave that poor excuse of a wizard and join me, my dear. Come and get everything that you desire. Knowledge. Power. I can give it all to you.”
Her nose was turned up at him. “And if I do not?”
“Then you are a fool who will end up dead.” He would not lie to her anymore.
“If that is the way it has to be,” she said, closing her eyes.
He stared at her, disbelieving. “You would die for him?”
“I will die for my cause, yes,” she said, not opening her eyes.
“I can offer you so much more. I can make you the Headmistress of Hogwarts. I can claim you queen of our world, if that is your wish.”
Minerva finally opened her eyes and he smirked in triumph, thinking he had finally won her over. “Kill me, Tom. If that is what tonight will come to, then please get it over with.”
“Go!” He shouted at her, his voice crackling angrily around the empty room. He waved his wand at her, releasing her hands. “Get out! Go back to him! Go!”
“Tom, please-” Minerva whispered, walking to him, wincing as she met his eyes. “Tom, you can stop all of this. This war, everything. You are causing so much pain.”
He raised his wand so that it was aimed at her chest. “Do not make me regret my decision to let you live.”
She did not.
1980
“And you believe that the answer is the Potter brat?” Severus’ voice, while slightly strangled, was curious.
“I need you to find them, Severus. Convince who you must. That child needs to be destroyed before he ruins our cause.”
“The Potters will be untraceable, my Lord,” Severus said with a bowed head.
“Are you denying me, Severus, my friend?”
“No, my Lord. I will try.”
Voldemort’s cracked lips parted over his teeth. “You might start by bringing Minerva McGonagall to me.”
“Dumbledore’s -”
“Bring her to me, Severus, along with any information you can gather. I will take care of the boy myself.”
Lord Voldemort excused Severus with a wave of his hand, the door across the room breezing open. His servants, while mostly stupid, would do whatever he asked of them. Especially Severus, who he found most similar to himself. Severus was loyal, beyond most in his legion. So, it was no shock to Voldemort when a crack echoed around the house, and struggling was heard from the den.
“Leave us,” Voldemort said to Severus. “I will call on you after I finish with the Professor.”
As Severus took his leave from the room, sporting a cut along his crooked nose, Voldemort floated closer to Minerva. “Afraid to look at me directly, my dear? Do I look that vile?”
“And more,” she seethed to him through gritted teeth. He could feel her hatred radiated from her like a brilliant sun. “What do you want of me? I am not food for you to play with, Tom. You cannot just beckon me. I am not one of your servants. I will kill you, so help me-”
“Minerva,” he breathed out to stop her from speaking. “I would like for you to help me with something. I want to ask you, before I demand. I know how horrible our friendship has become.”
“Friendship!” She laughed dryly and he clenched his hand around his wand. “You may as well kill me, you idiot.”
He worked his jaw muscles, grinding his teeth. “The Potters. Tell me where they are.”
“Over my dead. Decaying. Body.” She yelled while fighting her binding curse.
“Very well.” Voldemort raised his wand and shot the curse effortlessly. “Crucio!” Her screams breathed a fire into his veins; it gave him a rush of power, of feeling. He relished in it for a moment before removing the curse. “Where are the Potters?”
She was on her knees now with her hands behind her back. She spat at him.
“Crucio!” Watching her head hit the floor, a trickle of blood falling from her lip, made him smile in delight. He did not get to do the dirty work as often as he liked. He removed the curse once again and kneeled next to her twitching body. “My offer stands, Minerva. Join me, hand over the Potters, and I will give you everything that you desire. Do not make me do this to you any longer.”
“I cannot,” she managed brokenly. “I will not.”
He saw it then; it was a Fidelus Charm. A frustrated scream rustled the quiet vibe in the room. “You stupid girl! Crucio!”
It was then that he stood, turned on his heel and picked up a small potted plant. Quickly, he turned it into a portkey with a nonverbal spell. He threw it at her, and snarled as it hit her in the face. She was gone once again.
1998
“Your hero is dead,” Voldemort spat at Minerva as he threw a curse to her right and dodged the weak curse she threw at him. “You should have joined me, Minerva.”
She fought harder then, throwing curse after curse in his direction. He watched her and deflected her curses, but only retaliated at the others that were attempting to bring him down. One curse nearly hit him while he taunted the Professor, but at the last moment, it missed.
“Have you grown weak in your old age? Here I am, nearly your age, with the vitality of a young man. And you could have stayed. You would have been a Goddess.”
“I am more than what you could have made me,” Minerva told him as she moved in for a more accurate strike.
Voldemort laughed humorlessly. Just behind their scene, one of his Death Eaters was poised in battle and an errant curse was flying toward Minerva’s back. Without thinking, he deflected the curse from hitting her. So shocked at his protection, Minerva gaped at him while Horace and Kingsley continued their assault.
“Crucio!” He shouted a curse at her, now trying to rectify the mistake he had made. It never made contact with her, despite their short distance.
A scream, a shriek, a thud. The fighting around paused for a moment as Bellatrix LeStrange’s body fell lifeless to the ground. He turned to the cause, leaving Minerva alone completely. He barely noticed that his curse didn’t seem to work. His wand was now aiming at a Weasley, the oldest female. She was about to die and he was going to enjoy it.
And then the other side was revitalized. Harry Potter was standing with his wand drawn on him. The tables turned, in an entertaining twist. Voldemort moved to face Harry head on. The entire hall circled around them. Voldemort waved his side down.
The conversation was dull, boring. He just wanted the boy to die. Voldemort raised his wand to kill the boy and looked once to Minerva. Maybe he could spare her after he finally killed the brat. If only for his own, personal use. She was a pureblood after all. He couldn’t help the loathing smile he flashed at her.
And then everything was black.
***
Her answer. The one she wanted desperately. Was not what she received. Instead, what she knew was that Albus was correct. He couldn’t be saved, he couldn’t change. He was never good, but always calculating.
She reached back to the bun that her hair was tied in and pulled from it a small, ornate clip. The garnet sparkled still, even after all these years. Her trembling fingers ran over the stone and she sighed, ignoring the stinging headache that was looming.
Once she found herself in the Great Hall, alone again with the body of Lord Voldemort, she crouched down next to him with a grave smile. The hairclip clenched inside her fist was indenting her skin, it almost burned.
“Tom.” She shook her head, out of anger or understanding, she wasn’t sure. Using her free hand, she placed her hairclip into his lifeless, cold, scaly hand. Even after all the hell he had caused, and the immovable force with which he fought for his cause, she knew that he would need comfort. There was no hope for him wherever he ended up.
Leaving him to lay with the object he had found so fascinating years ago was the only way that Minerva knew how to make peace with him.